


Masks

by dragonofdispair



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter in Hell’s Kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at an MCU fanfic. A short encounter.
> 
> Beta'd by 12drakon.

They met on a fire escape.

Jessica didn’t hear him at first. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

It was the smell of something metallic and leather that wafted over the scents of filth and rain that told her that she wasn’t alone on her vantage point, chosen to eavesdrop on her latest subject and the skank he was holed up with. From the telephoto view of two scumbags, she turned and nearly fell off the fire escape to get away from the apparition that had appeared out of nowhere. The man in the mask. Daredevil. 

She’d heard stories. She hadn’t believed them.

She could punch through a wall or lift a car. By reports, frightening as he was, Daredevil was no Hulk or Thor. What did she have to fear from a kook in a mask?

The opaque lenses of the mask regarded her. Sightless (an illusion she knew, brought on by the polarization of the lenses) but knowing. There was something in the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders. Despite the mask, it was a bit like looking into a goddamn mirror. This was a man — a man, not a monster, but men could be the most frightening monsters of all — that could find the worst in people. Could hear it in the smooth engine-noise of a too-expensive car, smell it in the stale sex and blood of an abandoned motel room, see it in people’s hearts as they plead for help. Like she could.

What did she have to fear from a kook in a mask? Turns out, a hell of a damn lot.

He saw her. In all her glory. Her flaws, her weaknesses. The places where a single word would break her down into pieces. Rend her open and leave her bleeding what was left of her dreams out onto the ground.

And when she tried to return the favor? Look at the eyes and the hands and the soft parts of his throat to see what vices he had… She saw only the dark, polarized lenses, the red leather of the gloves, the thin armor over his throat. He had made himself into a symbol, and the symbol protected him from those who would see who and what he was beyond the legend. Her clue-seeking could see a hell of a lot about that, but nothing of the vulnerable man that had to lay beneath. He was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, a mask made of reputation as much as it was bulletproof leather and glass. For the first time since she’d initially scoffed at the idea of being a superhero, she saw method, not madness, in donning a mask.

He chuckled, as though he knew what she was thinking, could hear her thoughts.

For just a moment, the world flashed purple, and she snarled at Daredevil as much as at the memory. “Get the fuck off my fire escape, weirdo.”

“Take your pictures and get paid, Miss Jones,” he replied in a voice that would scrape along the nightmares of someone who didn’t already dream in purple. “Tonight. Before the cops show up.”

She turned back to the camera, to the image of the scumbag and the skank fucking on a cheap mattress probably filled with lice and nastier parasites. Nothing for the police to get involved in. She looked back at the masked interloper. “What the fuck —“ 

He was gone, as silently as he’d come.

“Fucking hell!”

.

.

.

End


End file.
